


Someone Like You

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [216]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Idiots in Love, M/M, Merthur Week 2020, Mutual Pining, Past Character Death, Resurrection, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28337451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: “It’s beenfifteen hundred years,” is the first thing Merlin says. His hands are clenched around the doorframe as if he could physically force Arthur off his front step and all the way back to Avalon just by glaring at him. “And you show up now?”“Not by choice,” says Arthur. He gestures—at the street, the city, the world; the planet of clusterfuck. “Apparently, I’m needed.”“Yeah, no shit,” says Merlin, and promptly slams the door.Written for Merthur Week 2020 Day #5: "Any other lies left to tell me?" + Angst.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merlin Fic [216]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/70688
Comments: 40
Kudos: 424
Collections: Merthur Week 2020





	Someone Like You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nextstopparis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextstopparis/gifts).



> Also inspired (at least in part) by [this](https://potatopottermysteriouscoinkidink.tumblr.com/post/632968930572550144/ok-but-au-inspired-by-someone-like-you-by-adele-in#notes) tumblr post. 
> 
> **Content note:** This fic draws inspiration from the events of 2020, with all that this implies, but I've tried to leave the disaster Merlin &c are dealing with quite vague (bc who needs actual 2020 in their escapism, amirite?).
> 
> As always, please do not repost my work elsewhere or archive my fic on Goodreads. Thank you!

  
“It’s been _fifteen hundred years_ ,” is the first thing Merlin says. His hands are clenched around the doorframe as if he could physically force Arthur off his front step and all the way back to Avalon just by glaring at him. “And you show up now?”

“Not by choice,” says Arthur. He gestures—at the street, the city, the world; the planet of clusterfuck. “Apparently, I’m needed.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” says Merlin, and promptly slams the door.

  
+

  
The thing is, Merlin’s been doing so well. He has a boyfriend now, a man who is kind and fit and blond and _nothing like Arthur_. He has a job that he loves, and friends that he sees sometimes when he’s not too busy, and favourite places to go and things to do and a fucking _future_ he is actually looking forward to; he hasn’t so much as thought about his destiny in years. 

“You can’t keep turning up here,” he says, the second time Arthur arrives on his doorstep. “I don’t have magic anymore; I’m no use to you. And David’s going to want to know who you are.” 

“I don’t care what _David_ wants,” Arthur says, disdainful, and Merlin almost wants to laugh because how is he _exactly the same_. “You can’t turn your back on this. People are dying.” 

“So what?” And this, Merlin thinks, is what it comes down to: fifteen hundred years of unwinnable wars, of waiting and hoping and praying and finally giving up, and _then_ — “That’s not my problem.”

  
+

  
The first time he saw Arthur in the twenty-first century he almost didn’t recognise him. Arthur was wearing a red hoodie and ripped skinny jeans and fucking _Converse_ like he hadn’t just walked out of a lake after several hundred years of silence, and—even more infuriating—Merlin had thought he was David. Just for a split second. 

The resemblance is only there in certain lights, or when Merlin’s had too much wine and the scales of guilt-induced amnesia fall away and he _remembers_ , with painful clarity, just what Arthur was like—but the resemblance _is_ there, which is enough to keep him awake at night. Sometimes he wonders if all he’s been doing is fooling himself; if destiny’s been laughing up her sleeve at him this whole time. It certainly would be par for the course. 

(David thinks Merlin doesn’t like wine because Merlin has substance abuse issues, and because David thinks several things about Merlin which aren’t entirely true. For instance: Merlin is an ordinary mortal. For instance: Merlin is in love with him.)

  
+

  
“It turns out we don’t need your magic,” Arthur says to Merlin the third time. Merlin has actually let him inside the flat today, because Arthur is nothing if not persistent and because this morning he woke up with David’s mouth on his cock, so he’s still willing to believe it might be a good day. “We need your expertise.”

Merlin has been a physician’s apprentice since the Middle Ages; it’s the one thing he kept from Camelot that didn’t decay. He tells himself it’s only out of professional curiosity that he’s willing to hear what Arthur might say.

“Science isn’t magic,” he says, when Arthur has finished. “Nor is politics, come to that. I know it may seem that way to you, but I can’t just wave my hand and make everything better—”

“Will you help, or not?” Arthur interrupts, cutting across him with a gesture that’s so familiar it makes Merlin’s teeth ache. “I can’t do it alone.” 

“Do I have a choice?” Merlin wants to ask, which is how he knows that Arthur's won.

  
+

  
It takes all of them, in the end, and it takes them so many hours that Merlin forgets what the sun looks like from one day to the next; forgets to do more than eat and sleep and breathe and ache and feels more alive than he has done in a millennium. 

“I don’t care,” he’d said, or tried to say, because after fifteen hundred years the only certain thing is that everything ends, so what’s the point in getting invested? But Merlin was never bred to be indifferent, so he bleeds his caring into everything he does, and every time he looks up he's looking at Arthur, with his bright blue eyes and his strong, steady hands, and Arthur’s looking back like he’s the goddamn saviour of the entire goddamn world. 

Destiny, above all else, is a cast-iron bitch. 

  
+

  
David breaks up with him. Ostensibly, it’s because Merlin’s been gone so often, because they can’t see each other as much with the new restrictions still in place, but in reality it’s because of Arthur.

“How are you still stalking me,” Merlin says, when Arthur barges into his flat the fourth time without bothering to knock.

“How are you still this _stupid_ ,” Arthur counters, crowding him back, and Merlin has a moment to think _fuck_ and _this isn't going to end well_ before Arthur’s mouth’s on his, and he doesn’t care.

“I didn’t miss you for a second,” Merlin pants, as Arthur shoves him up against the wall and kisses him; kisses so hard that Merlin will be tasting him for weeks; it’ll be several months from now when everything has gone tits up and he will _still have Arthur’s taste in his mouth_. “I didn’t think about you once.” 

“I didn’t think about you, either,” Arthur growls back, even as his teeth scrape a line of bruises down Merlin’s neck. “Why would I? You were nothing but a servant to me.” 

Merlin laughs, then, because it's kind of funny. If that's the worst thing Arthur can think of to say to him, they really must be scraping the bottom of the barrel.

“Any other lies left to tell me?” Arthur breathes in his ear. He might be shaking. 

“Yes,” Merlin whispers, turning his face into Arthur’s hair. “I hate you.”

He’s not sure if it’s the truth, or the biggest lie of all. 


End file.
